Flowers make love. They are irresistibly beautiful, colored and scented because they are meant to make love. And, perhaps, also to tell us that sex can be just natural, clean, funny, pleasant, and joyful.
While exploring flowers’ bellies through the viewfinder, I encounter the roots of desire in my own belly, I perceive its vibration, that is the same of flowers, and of joy. Meanwhile, the racket of thoughts produced by centuries of prohibitions, social conventions, guilt and pornography, for once,
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